Cavanaugh on Duty - By Marie Ferrarella Page 0,1

Esteban’s. “But if you prefer to imitate a moving target, that’s your call.”

Esteban watched the Chief for a long moment. According to what he’d heard, Brian Cavanaugh was considered fair to a fault by the men and women who answered to him and whose undying allegiance he’d earned one by one.

Esteban wavered for a moment, wanting to stick to his guns, an army of one. Then, suppressing the sigh that rose to his throat, he lowered his lean, muscular frame into one of the two chairs that faced the Chief of D’s desk.

Brian smiled. There wasn’t so much as a hint of triumph in his voice as he said, “Thank you, Detective.”

Esteban barely nodded, bracing himself as he waited for the inevitable shoe to fall.

The wait was almost nonexistent.

The Chief of Detectives’ next words were the ones Esteban had been dreading for thirty-six hours, ever since Manny Diaz had opened fire on him. Part of him still didn’t know how he’d survived.

But there was no part of him that didn’t want to go back.

“You’re being pulled off the undercover assignment, Detective.”

Esteban winced.

He’d been preparing for this meeting, for these damning words, ever since he’d been made less than two days ago. That was when he’d been identified as an undercover cop rather than a drug dealer with a growing clientele.

Made or not, he wasn’t about to accept this decision quietly. “Sir, I could still—”

The Chief cut him off before Esteban could waste any more breath, because that was all that it would be. Just a waste of breath. His mind was made up. Not because he was an egotist who enjoyed wielding power, but because he was not about to allow any of his people to risk certain death. Life was far too precious for that.

“No, you couldn’t,” Brian said firmly. His voice was not without compassion as he continued, “You were made, Detective. There is now a price on your head. A price that doesn’t carry the option of ‘dead or alive,’ just ‘dead.’” He leaned forward over his desk, creating an aura of privacy between himself and the young detective. “Jorge Lopez doesn’t like being made a fool of...and discovering an undercover law enforcement officer operating as a dealer right under his nose makes him out to be a huge fool. He wants your head on a pike in order to save face.”

Brian lightened his tone. He didn’t want to strike fear into his detective’s heart, just arouse his dormant common sense.

“Call me selfish, but I’d prefer having your head just where it is. You’re being pulled out to save your life, Detective. As good as you are—and according to everyone who counts, you are very good—you won’t be any further use to us with a target on your back. So, unless you have a death wish, you will accept reassignment as graciously as you can.

“This is a good thing, Detective Fernandez,” Brian continued. “A lot of men who came before you and went into undercover work never got the chance to get out. At least, not alive,” he amended.

Esteban struggled to keep his reaction to the Chief of D’s words from showing on his face. He didn’t want to be gracious. He just wanted to continue doing what he’d been doing: getting rid of scum one drug dealer at a time. It was the only thing that gave purpose to his life.

“Yes, sir,” Esteban bit off, staring past the Chief of D’s head.

Brian heard the animosity in the other man’s voice—could almost feel it. But he wasn’t here to make friends at the expense of a man’s life. Even a single life was one too many.

His eyes held Esteban’s. “You don’t sound as if you believe me.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t believe the Chief, it was just that he had no desire to play it safe, to get out of the game where he risked his life daily, betting that very same life against some pretty steep odds that he would see another sunrise.

“No, sir, I do believe you.” He cast about for the right way to say this. Maybe he actually had a shot at changing the Chief of D’s mind on this after all. “It’s just that—”

“You’re afraid of being bored to death,” Brian said. When Esteban looked at him in surprise, Brian allowed himself a moment to laugh. “I didn’t guess at that, Detective. I’ve been in your place. Granted, it feels like a hundred years ago now, but I worked undercover when I